Remy's Duster
by 3Keys21Mind
Summary: It was his way of showing the world how proud he was of himself and his family. It was worth more than anything in the world. It was a simple coat, but it was also his mark as a person and his prize possession. Remy-centric oneshot, mentioned Romy.


**(10)**

**Title**: Remy's Duster

**Summary**: It was his way of showing the world how proud he was of himself and his family. It was worth more than anything in the world. It was a simple coat, but it was also his mark as a person and his prize possession.

**Completed**: November 17, 2013

**BETA: **PeterTheOtaku

* * *

Remy wore his brown duster nearly every day of his life since he had become a thief. It had been given to him by his father after completing his first solo jewel heist: it was the day he officially joined the New Orleans Thieves Guild and it was the second best day of his life; the first being the day he was adopted.

He remembered the grin that had worked its way across his face -despite trying to keep it straight- as his father draped the lush, soft leather over his shoulders. Even though it had long since faded, he even remembered how spicy it smelled that day. It had been the first day of the rest of his life.

Since that day, he wore it whenever he left the house—especially on jobs. It was his way of showing the world how proud he was of himself, and his family. It was worth more than all the jewels in the world, all the money he could count, and all of the ladies he could possibly spend the night with. It was a simple coat, but it was also his mark as a thief and his most prized possession.

Even as his relationship with his father deteriorated, Remy kept his coat close to him. The now worn leather was a reminder of happier days and the people he still considered his family—even if some of them completely hated him for leaving. He wouldn't admit it, but when he wore the coat, it made him feel like he hadn't been looked after just because they thought he was _le Diablo Blanc,_ but because he was a genuine member of the family. He tried to only remember all of the good things that happened while he wore the jacket.

He had become the Prince of Thieves, taken Belle on their first date, scored countless jobs, taught a whole generation of new, younger thieves, watched his brother Henri fall in love with the lovely Mercy, and came into his powers in that coat.

After trying to leave the guild, Remy had worked for Magneto for about ten months—in that time, he could count how many unique instances he wore his duster on one hand. It seemed horrible to tarnish his prized possession with the dirty work of a terrorist.

Of all the times he _had_ worn his jacket, it hadn't been for Magneto's benefit, but for the X-Men—for Rogue.

He had worn it the second time he had gone 'Rogue-watching'. The first time had been by Magneto's order and he had left it at home, but he had found her so fascinating, he decided to go out again, without the need to be ordered. And again. And then again. It became a hobby—he always wore his duster when participating in his hobbies.

He had worn it the day he confronted the anti-mutant bon rien fils at her school—he hadn't gone with the intention of confronting them, but he lost his temper after they pushed her. The teenage mutants couldn't defend themselves at school because they would be the bad guys—they would get punished. Gambit didn't attend Bayville High, so he had no problem sticking up for the younger mutants. What kind of cowardly, worthless boy picked on people who couldn't defend themselves?

He had worn it to chase the River-rat to Tibet with fuzz-face and her pseudo-father, in hopes of preventing her from awakening Apocalypse. He had dealt with their bickering to try and keep _that_ off her already fragile conscious, even if he had failed.

He had worn it when he had taken the fascinating Southern Belle to New Orleans to save his stupide pére. Admittedly, he wasn't entirely proud of that day—it had taken a lot of work to get Rogue to trust him after that. He didn't even _like_ his father, and he had almost lost the best thing that ever happened to him, before it had even started. He really wished he had just taken her for a vacation.

The second he had made it back to his childhood home, he regretted not leaving with her. No sooner had he stepped his foot in the door, his father had him engaged to the Ripper's heiress and confined to the premise.

He was stuck. He wasn't even allowed to go on missions with the other members of the guild, because Jean-Luc knew him well enough to know he'd run from the engagement.

He had to watch the X-Men, Brotherhood, his ex-teammate and a Morlock fight Apocalypse from the TV in Tante Mattie's kitchen. He had to watch each and every one of those people fight for the fate of, not only mutants, but the humans that condemned them. He had to watch Rogue – the girl that had felt she could only destroy lives with her powers- save every being on the planet.

He _watched_ her defeat Apocalypse.

When had he let himself become a useless trophy-wife, just sitting off to the side and watching things happen: not even being a player behind the scenes?

He was so sick and angry with himself; he had yanked his duster off and thrown it out the window.

The moment he did it, all anger had left his body. He just stared out the window at the heap of fabric on the ground. It was so strange: Up until the moment he had tossed it into the swamp, that duster had meant more than the world to him. It had been how he defined himself for over a decade: _Gambit, the demon eyed Prince of Thieves_. It had been his verification of his existence and he just threw it out the window—he _didn't care_ that he had just thrown it out the window.

Tante Mattie had watched his little temper tantrum from the stove, smiling to herself.

"Da keys to ya bike are in yo pére's safe." Remy had stared at her incredulously for about 30 seconds before grinning and grabbing her in a huge hug. "Make sure you leave no loose ends here fil," she continued. "You don' want dem followin' you home." Remy nodded and kissed her cheek.

Two days later—hoping they were home already—he had called the institute. Some man named Hank had answered the phone. After explaining who he was and what he wanted, he had been put through to Xavier. Although the man was still in the Med-bay with a few injuries, he had been more than welcoming to the Cajun thief—expecting him even. Remy explained that it may take him a while to get there—but that he was on his way home.

He had been taken to the chapel to marry Belladonna Boudreaux the next day. He walked into the building, declared to the entire party and all of the guests that his marriage to Belladonna would be useless because he disowned the guild, threw his –once beloved- duster into his father's arms, and left.

No one even fathomed what happened until they heard his bike roar to life outside. By then it was too late.

He spent the next two weeks traveling North. He stopped to see a couple old clients, letting them know about his change in career, and emptying bank accounts that even the guilds didn't know about.

When he finally pulled into Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. To be interrogated about his whereabouts during the Apocalypse, shunned by the Boy Scout, attacked by Wolvie—just about anything but Rogue standing at the front door beside Xavier, with a black Duster in her hands.

7 years passed and that duster—the symbol of his new life— had seen everything: The start of half a dozen relationships within the walls of his new home, the death of a teammate and the expansion of the institute and his new job as a teacher.

That duster was with him for every step of his budding relationship with Rogue. She had cried on it after Mystique brainwashed her into attacking Carol Danvers, she ripped it off him the day she gained full control of her powers so she could feel his skin beneath her bare fingers, he had hidden her engagement ring in it for over a month before finally popping the question, and Rogue would wrap their young son in it whenever he fussed at night to make him stop crying.

Remy wore his black duster nearly every day of his life since becoming a X-Men. It was his way of showing the world how proud he was of himself and his family. It was worth more than all the jewels in the world, all the money he could count and all of the ladies he could possibly spend the night with. It was a simple coat, but it was also his mark as an X-Man and his prize possession.


End file.
